It Ain't Pretty
by shadows-of-1832
Summary: "At this point, she doesn't care if her feet get wet. She just wants to go back to her empty apartment, and try to forget more than she started with earlier that night." Modern Era. One-Shot.
Author's Note: So it's been a bit, hasn't it? Well, with college being done for the semester, there's some time for me write *hopefully*. Here's a little piece that's been stuck in my head for awhile, and only now have I finally been able to get it down. Much of it is inspired by Lady Antebellum's "It Ain't Pretty," but I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

She can't even remember how the argument started anymore. All she knows is that the both of them were shouting at the top of their lungs in their cozy apartment, and at some point, she threw shoes at him, told him to get out, and he did.

It's been two weeks, and she hasn't heard from him since.

Their friends don't talk about it, nor do they talk about him, other than he's alive and hasn't tried anything stupid that might get him killed. (He's been known to do that, but not always with the intent of it.)

She sits on what was once their bed, gazing out into the cloudy April sky. She can smell the coming rain in the breeze, and in a way, it's a comfort to her. Only, she remembers that it was raining the day she last saw him.

She goes on about her day, trying to make herself feel better. Listens to the radio, but each song she hears reminds her of him. Tries to do the laundry, but finds his shirts, and she breathes in his scent. Picks up a few books to read, only to find the annotations in pencil that he left behind.

She decides then she just needs to get out of the apartment, away from any reminder of him. She puts on her favorite shade of red lipstick, put on her favorite black dress with high heels to match, and heads out the door.

She drives, with no particular destination in mind. Just anywhere that there is not a reminder of him.

She stops at a local bar. Perhaps forgetting about him, if only for a little while, will do her some good.

Without much hesitation, she walks towards the back of the bar and orders a few shots. She finishes them within the first ten minutes.

She starts to go through her phone, a way to stop looking at the other people around her. They're having a good time, in contrast to what her life's been like recently. She goes through her contacts, wondering who she should call to join her, or at least be someone to talk to. She finds his name.

She's tempted to delete it. She's also tempted to dial it.

She does neither.

Pictures are the next thing she goes through, and regrets it immediately.

The first image she comes upon is of him, holding Marius' and Cosette's newborn daughter in his arms. She considers it a lovely picture, but now she just wishes it wasn't him that was in it. Him with his steel-blue eyes and wild blond hair, in his favorite red shirt, holding that child in his arms, looking so peaceful…She can't bring herself to delete it.

Then there's him sitting in a recliner, reading one of his books. There's an annoyed expression on his face as he peers over his reading glasses. It's a common look from him when she teases him…at least it used to be.

The next one is their engagement photo, from only a month ago. (The engagement ring is still on her finger.)

Then, there's a picture of her with her mouth full of spaghetti—He took that one and caught her off guard.

Another image of him in the recliner, only asleep with their cat on his chest.

And the list keeps growing.

She runs to the bathroom just to clean up the tears. The girl next to her, spilling beer all over the place, is completely ignorant of the weeping girl beside her.

Coming alone was a bad idea. Not talking to someone was even worse.

Her mind is starting to cloud, an effect of the alcohol, no doubt. Next thing she knows, she's in the arms of a complete stranger.

Much of the conversation with the strange man is small talk, nothing she would remember in the morning even if she was sober. She starts crying at some point, no doubt about the man she loved and hasn't seen in two weeks. She cries into the stranger's shirt and apologizes. The stranger doesn't seem to care, just holds her while their old song played. There's a fuzzy feeling in her chest and she kisses him…

It goes downhill from there.

She can faintly recall being in an alley, her hands trailing up and down the stranger's body. His lips are on hers, and she's not fighting it. The skirt of her dress is hiked up, and she doesn't care…She won't admit it was _him_ she was thinking about the entire time.

When the act is through, she opens her eyes and regrets it.

Once the stranger is out of sight, she pulls out her phone and goes straight to contacts, straight to his name. She almost dials it. She almost lets him hear her cries. She almost lets him know of the pain she is feeling because of him, because of how she hasn't seen him or his stupid face for a couple of weeks.

But she stops herself.

She dials a cab instead.

By now, the rain is pouring down, flooding the sidewalks and streets. Her brunette hair is drenched. Her dress sticks to her. She abandons the idea of walking in her heels and carries them in her hand instead. At this point, she doesn't care if her feet get wet. She just wants to go back to her empty apartment, and try to forget more than she started with earlier that night.

When the cab pulls to the curb, she doesn't notice the drenched figure getting in on the other side. She barely notices their presence when they close their doors.

It's when she hears them tell the cab driver the same address as her apartment at the same time as she, does she notice another person had entered what she assumed was her cab.

She turns her head to see familiar blue eyes and soaked blond hair, and she's just as surprised as him at the coincidence.

"Eponine?" How nice it was to hear him speak her name after such a long time…

"Enjolras," she replies with a smile.


End file.
